The pieces fell to the ground in a little white shower. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. To have you is all important. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. Ruth went on to explain. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape.
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